


Lyrics

by Trash



Category: Linkin Park
Genre: M/M, Murder, Rape, Torture, Writer's Block
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-20
Updated: 2014-01-20
Packaged: 2018-01-09 10:21:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1144824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trash/pseuds/Trash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mike tells Chester that writing about your experiences makes for better lyrics. So Chester makes some experiences of his own</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lyrics

Chester sits in the studio day after day with his notebook open on the desk in front of him, page blank save for a handful of crossed out words and a doodle of a stick man hanging himself in the margin.

Brad tries to comfort him, it’s writer’s block – happens to everyone. But Chester just shakes his head “It’s not writer’s block,” he insists, “It’s lack of talent.”

Slams his pen down, and storms out of the room.

***

It takes weeks, and Brad has to physically restrain Mike from punching the frustrated singer in the head, but Chester eventually starts to write again and when he does the lyrics are so dark, so disturbing, that Brad visibly shivers and puts the notebook down. Catches Mike’s eye, but neither of them can say anything.

Chester smiles at them both, “What do you think?” He asks, his voice dripping with insecurity and fear and a tiny bit of pride.

Mike fakes a smile, “They’re great. Mind if I add to them?”

And when Chester gets them back they’ve changed completely, but he doesn’t seem to mind all that much.

***

On the news they show a photograph of a blonde boy with electric blue eyes and a playful smirk along with the words, Missing and Thought To Be Abducted.

“God,” Rob murmurs quietly, “I went to school with him.”

“What’s his name?” Chester asks curiously.

“Alex,” Rob tells him, “Alex Redgrave. Oh man.”

Chester nods, looking interested, then disappears back into the vocal room with his notebook in hand.

***

Weeks pass, and eventually the words under Alex Redgrave’s photograph turn to Found Dead and Sexually Abused And Murdered.

Rob looks pale so Mike turns off the TV.

***

Chester comes to Brad in the middle of the night, pushing him back into the hallway when he opens the door. He’s soaked, his shirt wet and his eyes wide. “I...I only did it for the lyrics. Mike told me to write from experience. B-but I don’t have any. So I made some.”

He’s crying, begging, “You can’t tell anyone!”

“Tell who? Tell who what, Chester?”

Brad flicks on the hallway light and gasps.

Blood. His shirt is covered in blood. He can’t stop shaking, wipes his brow with a trembling hand, smearing blood on his face.

“What happened?!” Brad panics, tearing at the singer’s shirt to find where he’s been hurt.

“It’s not mine...he wouldn’t...Jesus. I told him to hold still Brad. I told him to lay still or he’d get hurt but he wouldn’t l-listen to me!”

Brad stares, confused, hands warm with somebody else’s blood.

“I-I need you to help me hide the body.”

***

He shouldn’t have gone. He knows it. But he follows Chester anyway. You help those who you love. You bury bodies when they need you to. He supposes.

And on the news the police sketch artists plaster up pictures that look nothing like Chester. And they both breathe a slow sigh of relief.

***

It happens again. This time it’s a college boy. Nineteen. Fresh out of high school. And Chester’s lyrics tell Brad all about how he begged for it, the way Chester had been made to once upon a time.

And Brad, he races to the bathroom to throw up.

***

Their album goes to number one and the killings stop.

But, turns out, witnesses are always waiting to crawl out of the wood work with their stories about how they saw Chester gut Alex Redgrave after he fucked him against the alley wall.

They’re always willing to point to him in a line up and nod, say, “Yes officer, it was him.”

***

Chester gets the death penalty.

But at least he has plenty to write about.


End file.
